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Drought



Trickling through spavined tracks,
contracted ravines eroded less rigid each day,
narrowing channels muddier, less bloody,
evincing less flex, less play, collapsed;
accustomed thirsts, urges, left unquenched
in various zealous cells that shrink and shrivel a little,
that don't drink deep—so goes the flow:
drying membranes recoil, fold, retracting,
creasing, decreasing, no longer swelled
to the rum ruddy boundary of what can be
by the life liquid yet gushing from the source,
the crucial spring, but drained too much,
too often, by too many, to an insufficiency,
an iniquity, a drought; as a virga rain let
drip prematurely from the gravid cloud
falls in good faith but, unconvinced,
never reaches ground; as the Colorado
surges, of course, toward the Sea of Cortez
only to get, off course, into the crust and sink,
seep below the thirsty threshold, percolate,
and drop into a different solution,
subcutaneous, colloidal, and compromised:
a less salivary salve, failing to solve—
id est, voiding its resolve—
dissolves.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.